My Cardboard Balcony

December Dreams by Belinda Roddie December dreams are fragile things, susceptible to even the slightest change or heat. Like snowflakes, they descend at night like messages delivered from the gods of the blizzard themselves, and then they melt quickly away once the sun rises. And the dreamer are left with a warmth in their chests, but not a single memory of the crystalline imagery that came before it lingers. Every pattern seen in a temporary storm, gone with a chronically shortening winter.

"Why did you have to be like that?" cried Larry, his face redder than the thin, tattered necktie he wore. "Why did you have to be so...so... persistent?! " I took the drooping cigarette out of my mouth and fought off the temptation to blow a mouthful of smoke into my brother's face. "Because if I wasn't," I growled, "we wouldn't have gotten the best deal. Learn from a professional, Larry."